imagine reaching deep into yourself, past any sense of doubt or regret, and reliving what made you -you-.
saturday mornings when your dad cut grass and expected help he didn't ask for while bacon and eggs waited in the kitchen,
or sundays where evening cartoons robbed you, so you wished for extra sleep before sermons and trips to CVS.
or holidays alone because jobs are demanding, and it won't happen again next year, where stillness forms into repression, fueled by discomforts, angsts, sadness.
and it isn't until much later that the light of your own existence takes root, petals up toward the sun, and chooses to flourish.